


Out of Sorts; A Michael Peterson Story

by ItsComingUpHardy



Category: Bronson - Fandom, Tom Hardy - Fandom, charles bronson - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Mental Institutions, mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsComingUpHardy/pseuds/ItsComingUpHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aoife Murphy is a newly qualified Mental Health nurse assigned to Broadmoor Hospital for the Criminally Insane. When a chance encounter with the Notorious "Most Violent Prisoner" she realises the neglect and suffering this man is going through without the proper medication. Setting it upon herself to help him, she breaks through to a man that no one has ever been able to tame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of Sorts; Michael Peterson Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story! I'm not going to drag this out too long.
> 
> Maybe five or six chapters. Now, Aoife is pronouced "ee+fa" and is Irish for Beauty. This is also set in modern day and not 1978. I will warn you all that there will be copious amounts of swearing and non-consensuals. Any issues, please don't read. If you like, please leave me some feedback! :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Pulling up to the building, Aoife felt nothing but fear and regret at taking the job. Working as a nurse was all fine and well until it came to paying the bills and when the opportunity comes to study for her mental health licence and the chance to earn twice what she does just now, she took it.   
The free standing building seemed miles high when she looked out her car window at the beautiful structure. It was like something from a horror movie but at the same time, the scene for a beautiful period drama. 

Checking herself in the rear view mirror, she swept her stray hair into a Kirby and sighed heavy at the prospect of a first day in this place. It wasn’t all that bad really. The job was given to her and she took it gratefully to get out of where she was; mopping up sick and shit in care ward run by some of the worst nurses she’s every worked with and she’d only been practising three years. No, this was going to be a new start and she wasn’t going to let the scenery spoil that. 

Broadmoor Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane was going to be her new start. Although, she wasn’t sure why.

\----

Check in was all but painless. Although, she realised that she was indeed the only female member of staff at Broadmoor and that every nurse hired would later quit from stress or injury, nothing in between.

“You seem awful young to be a Psychiatric Nurse?” The small pudgy man walked with a massive gait and she found it hard to keep up with him. His nose seemed irregularly large and swollen and she had to stop herself from staring.

“Just qualified two months ago. This is my training.” She took in to the crumbling walls and the mint green tattered wallpaper hanging from them. The halls were clean and there was a strong smell of disinfectant which gave her peace of mind that there was some sort of work being done here.

“Yeah well, you’ll be wishing to be back at the hospital. This place will suck the life out of a sweet young thing like you.” He looked at her sadly and smiled small at her. He was being sincere she saw, but a creeping feeling of remorse filled her senses, like, this wasn’t the first time he had said that.

“Right, we have forty residents. Thirty-five of them are medicated on a regular basis, four are here under a precautionary sentence or rehabilitation. One has just arrived and we ask that you take great caution with him. I doubt he would hit a woman, but we don’t know what kind of fucking brute he is until we put you in front of him.” He looked her up and down, almost evaluating her appearance. She just stood there and let him. He knew best. This was his playground and she was going to be his student.

“Breakfast is served at seven thirty, medicine either before or after and then they sit in the Rec Room for an hour and then back to their cells.” He took the clipboard from the wall at a set of double doors. 

“I’ll take you in and show the Rec Room before we get you squared up with the medicine cabinet.” He nodded to her for reassurance that she was still with him, but granted that her face was etched with intrigue and fear, he just went ahead and opened the double doors. 

Before she realised it, she was standing in the caged entrance to the massive Rec Room. Two young orderlies stood guard and watched over the residents but turned when they saw the fresh face. Taken back by the soft skin of a young woman.

“Aoife, this is Brian and Stephen. They take the afternoon shift in The Cage. Anything that goes down in here, these guys will have your back.” They nodded in her direction and turned their heads back to the floor. She took it in herself and realised that there really wasn’t many residents in the room. The soft playing of the record seemed to be soothing them and the various orderlies doing activities with them put her mind at rest.

“You will be in here most of the time. I might suggest maybe going in and familiarising yourself with them all at some point.” He pointed to the middle of the room and realised there was chairs set up amongst the patients.

“No time like the present.” Snapping her head up to look at him, she was taken back by the almost sinister smile on his chubby face.

“I don’t know about that. I’m just a nurse. I’m here to administer any medications and make sure the patients are being taken care of. Do I really need to be in here?” She wasn’t so much taken back by the fact they wanted her to somewhat “socialise” with the patients, but that she was going to be in there every day with them and not doing the job that was set out for her before she arrived.

“Miss Murphy, these “inmates” take their medication on time every morning and if they don’t, we make sure that they know what happens if they don’t. You just make sure that they don’t hurt themselves or the people around them and you’ll be fine.” He smiled at her briefly and opened the main cage door. Her heart leaping into her throat when he signalled for her to go first.

“It’s not a snake pit Miss Murphy, you’ll be safe.” He waved his hand further in and she followed. Cringing when the cage slammed behind her and she was standing there, almost alone. None of the patients seemed to notice her and she moved a little easier towards the large carpeted area where the music was playing and some were sitting and enjoying the atmosphere. She took in some of their faces and tried to suss out any “mental illness” but unless she had their chart, she thought it was damn near impossible to evaluate someone just by looking at them.

All she could hear to her right was grumbling and grunts and she turned to see a man near comatose in an arm chair and she felt her heart leap at the state of him. Turning back towards the cage, she marched towards them.

“That man is severely drugged? Shouldn’t someone keep an eye on him? He could choke on his vomit?” She felt the concern and she wasn’t met by any enthusiasm to help him.

“That’s the least he deserves Miss Murphy.” The chubby attendant smirked in the man’s direction and stalked back through the double doors they came through. Squinting her eyes in disgust at his retreating figure, she moved back towards the man.  
His white smocks were stained with obvious vomit and food but he seemed to smell okay, which meant he still had function over everything else.

“Are you okay there love?” Her eyes dripping with concern when he lulled his head back. Moving a little closer, she checked to make sure he wasn’t choking and realised that he was sedated to the point where his eyes kept rolling into the back of his head.

“Bastards.” She murmured under her breath as she pulled a wooden chair closer to his arm chair and sat with him. His head seemed to move towards her and she picked his arm up gently to check his pulse and felt the pull of restraint.

“I’m a nurse. Let me just checked and make sure you’re okay. Won’t be a minute.” She looked up at him through her long lashes and pressed her fingers to his pulse point and felt the thready hum of his pulse. Shaking her head at the obvious over dosing of sedation that this poor man got, she placed his arm back down on the arm chair and moved to wipe away the spit and grog from his face and neck. He had seemingly attractive features and she wondered what a man like him was doing in a place like this.

“I’m going to clean you up a little. Can you move?” When all she heard was a grunt and a grumble, she sighed contently that at least he was responsive and could hear her but also frightened that the grunt and grumble meant “Get the fuck away from me”.

Walking over to the cage, she reached her hand through the bars swiftly and whipped the small white towel off the shoulder of who she presumed to be Brian.

“You’re taking your life into your hands there sweetheart. Man is a fucking psychopath.” Brian sniggered at her and Stephen scoffed with humour at his Cage Mates remark. Rolling her eyes and folding the towel over her arm, she simply turned her head up to look at the young man and remarked-

“Good thing he’s in here then, isn’t it?” Stalking away from the crestfallen men, she took her seat with the drugged patient and jumped out of her skin with the way he was looking at her. His baby blues a staggering realisation that he was all together with it behind them, but his drug addled body was betraying him. The slobber seemed to get worse and it almost seemed like he was trying to give her more work.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say to me and whatever it is, keep it to yourself.” His eyes wavered when she leant in to clean around his mouth and neck and he leaned his head down slowly so she could reach around the back of him neck.

“There. Now, try not to put your head back. If you’re going to be sick, lay forward.” She moved his head up to look at her and she searched his eyes for a response and when she got a slow blink, she took that as her cue to leave.

“I’m Nurse Murphy, if you need to speak to me, you can.” Patting him softly on the hand, she stood to be confronted by another patient.

“Shame that, isn’t it.” His arms were behind his back and his face was etched with concentration.

“He’s only been here five hours and they’ve got him on the hard stuff.” He faced the young nurse off and she noticed that he seemed relatively normal.

“Nurse Murphy I heard? John White” The man held his hand out to Aoife and she all but cringed at the exchange. She knew this man and in the back of her mind, she wondered why this man wasn’t heavily sedated. Refusing his hand, she turned back to guy in the chair and checked him quickly and found his highly disorientated at the presence of the man. 

“Calm down or you’re going to hurt yourself.” She hushed him and he turned his eyes to her again, a silent warning about the man standing right behind her.

“Mr White, take advantage of your free time please. I’m sorting out a patient right now.” She turned her eyes back to the struggling man and thanked him silently as the man walked away, seemingly in a huff.

This was a great first day at Broadmoor.

\---

“This is the main drugs cabinet. I have a key and you’ll eventually get one. When around any of the inmates, your keys should be kept on your lanyard at all times.” Not really listening to the man, she observed the drug cabinet and realised how spars the antipsychotic medication was but how much Chlorpromazine there was. Vials upon vials of the clear drug sat dead centre. Disgust ran through her veins at the realisation that these people weren’t patients, they were inmates. Kept under thumb with sedatives to make sure they didn’t cause any trouble. 

“All the patient charts will be available to you when you leave. Take them home and study them.” He closed the cabinet and ushered her out of the small office back towards the Rec Room.

“Don’t want to overload you on your first day. Go home, read up and prepare for tomorrow. Peterson? The guy you were fretting over has a psych evaluation coming up in a week to see whether we can send him back to prison or if he’s going to be a permanent resident.”

Michael Peterson. She was helping Michael Peterson. He wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t a sex offender. He robbed a Post Office and beat up some guards from what she heard. 

“What has he got to do with anything?” She was trying to get as much information from this fat lump before she read his file.

“Well, you’re the nurse. You can sit with him and find out why he beat the shit out of all those men. You can get through to him or he’s going to spend the rest of his life fighting the choke of his vomit and the cold in solitary.” This guy was really starting to get on her nerves. He was purposely trying to undermine her.

“Now, hurry home and I’ll see you here at 6am Miss Murphy.” She realised that she hadn’t got his name.

“Sorry, I don’t know you name?” She was the filing cabinet behind him. His face contorting into one of amusement.

“Alistair Bing. I’m head Orderly at this hospital and second in command after Dr Lynch. The Good Doctor visits every Monday and Thursday to check in. You’ll meet him next week for Petersons appeal.” And that was it, he walked past her and left her to navigate the lonely halls of Broadmoor by herself. Fucking bastard.

\----

After arriving back to her new flat, the first thing she done was strip and jump in the shower. She loved showers. They washed the grime and stress of the day and gave her time to switch off but this time, she could only picture the cold blue eyes of Michael Peterson. The man had done more damage than twenty men could do in a year but he didn’t deserve the whack of drugs they obviously gave him. Washing her hair, she picture him alone in his cell and hoped to God that he survived the night.

Turning off the heat, she dabbed her towel against her face and stepped out, looking forward to the soft cotton of her pyjamas and the warmth of her bed. 

Pulling on her cotton shorts and the oversized cotton t-shirt, she climbed into her bed, pulling at the covers littered with files and papers of the patients at Broadmoor. Some were court ordered, some were there willingly and some were “sentenced” there. Schizophrenia and Attention Deficit Disorders were the main categories that she clocked. The only way to treat was talking and medicating and there didn’t seem to be enough of that at Broadmoor. 

Then there was Michael. Attempted Suicide and the assault on an officer landed him in Broadmoor. No family history of mental health issues. Severe aggression. But no physical sign of Mental Health issues recorded other than the attempt at suicide. 

This was just a stepping stone for the prison system. A man who causes that much damage must have something wrong with him, let’s just stick him in the funny farm. Sighing at the realisation, she set the file aside and lay down. The man was clearly sane enough to know that his actions had consequences but the root of the aggression would surely deem a perfect symptom to have him cooped in Broadmoor for the rest of his life.

Yawning, she closed her eyes and pictured his baby blues staring back at her. She was sure that she could get him out of there. But she was going to need all the strength in the World to confront him. Tomorrow, she always had tomorrow.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TWOOOOOOOO!
> 
> This is all filler filler filler until we get to the GOOD SHIT!   
> If you didn't read the wee note in the last Chapter, this is set in modern 2015! This "short" story will also feature some other characters that will soon have THEIR own story. YOU EXCITED?! I fucking am!
> 
> I will also be updating Locke this week with TWO CHAPTERS! And a wee One-Shot. Please stay tuned! Leave feedback! GIVE ME SOME KUDOS & I will send the love RIGHT BACK TO YA!
> 
> ENJOY MY LITTLE DUMPLINGS! <3

The alarm went the next morning, Aoife all but stretched her tired limbs and cursed her mind for running overtime. She shifted her body into action and pushed the abandoned files away from her body to get up. Five am every morning, Monday to Friday. Looking up at her ironed uniform, all she could picture was his face etched with drug addled confusion at the softness of her actions and it willed her further out of bed. A shower. A shower is what she needed.

\---

The hospital looked different in pre Sunrise. The dark shadows cast by the tall features seemed to make everything look more regal. The smell of morning dew and wet gravel reminded her where she was. This was a mental institution, not Chapter One of a Charlotte Bronte novel. She was here to do a job and that’s what she was going to do. 

Adjusting her smocks like she always did, she shut up her car in the far corner of the parking lot and walked purposely towards the double doored entrance. This time, there was no guards, although she saw them all stood around the small wooden table ready to sign in for 6:15am, she took her place at the front and signed on the obligatory line and shouldered her way out of the mass of tired and disorientated bodies.

“You’re right on time Miss Murphy.” She heard behind her and turned to see Alistair, clipboard in hand, looking as though he was ready for battle instead of his usual nine to five. 

“Right folks, roll call and then on with the day.” Setting about the names like a drill, he left her to last and gave her a stare when she made herself known and then turned to walk towards the main ward.

She wasn’t going to take any shit from the little weasel. She was going to do her job and she was going to make some worth of this place, even if she did have to step over a chubby, good for nothing orderly to get there. 

\---

He could taste something that was a mixture of vomit and disinfectant. His head felt so heavy, the thought of lifting it off the pillow alone gave him a massive migraine. His eyelids dropped and swayed with the moments of his body as he swing his legs off the side of the small iron rung bed. 

“Fuckin’ cunts. Poppin’ me in the arse with that funny fuckin’ juice.”

His thoughts were rapid. He thought of killing every person in the institution, until he pictured the soft green eyes, the beautiful white smile and brown haired angel that kept his dignity and made sure he was okay. 

“She wasn’t no scum bitch neither. She was a proper woman.” His brain came into focus at the jingle of keys in the hall ways. Fat fuck was doing the rounds.

“Alright Peterson, Rec Room.” The fat orderly kept a good few metres away from the actual door and the fingers Michael stuck up to him indicated that a fresh vile of poison be on hand in case things got…messy again.

Michael relished in the quite slumber of his mind. The thought of his hotel room. The smell of badly made omelettes of a Sunday morning and the grog coffee they served every day. Heaven, compared to this pit. His life wasn’t anything to be praised, but he sure as hell wasn’t a crazy. He was just…misunderstood.

\---

Aoife watched the patients pile in. Some brought in with chains around the ankles and only set loose when they were metres from the door. A young woman dragged in by her elbow made Aoife’s hair stand on ends as she arranged the magazines and the assortment of puzzles and board games on the fold away table. 

This place was pre-historic. She imagined if it wasn’t for weekly inspections, they would still be administering Electroconvulsive therapy as a viable form of treatment. The smell of disinfectant was the only soothing thing to her. At least someone was doing their job around here.

The sound of shouting and thumping came from the far door and she turned her body around in time for one man to be launched across the room by six orderlies. Laughing like a manic, he rolled onto his back and lay flat against the carpet, singing various football hooligan songs and sticking his fingers up at the men. 

“You better cooperate Peterson or you’ll spend the rest of your life in solitary.” Alistair said this from behind the metal bars. Fucking pussy.

Peterson. He was alive.

Moving over to Michael, she realised he was dressed in fresh whites and showered. The smell of hospital shower gel near stung her nostrils as she approached him.

“We’ll be fine. Won’t we Michael?” 

\---

Her voice. Her fuckin’ voice. 

She looked like one of those fancy ladies that sit in coffee shops readin’ newspapers and drinking expensive teas and eating tiny cakes. She was too young to be a snob but old enough to be a lady.

He noticed the long brown hair tamed in a green bandana tied high on her head. Her razor-sharp jaw tensed with the aggravated behaviour of fat-fuck AliBali behind his little cage. But her smell. He had never smelled a woman quite as lovely as her. He imagined she rolled in sweet sweet Scottish Heather before work every mornin’. A dab of Lily dabbed behind both ears. She was what he imagined a woman should always smell like. 

“Nurse Murphy, we have inventory to do in an hour. I’ll come back for you.” Casting a glazed and weary eye to Michael, he sighed a breath of release when they all turned to pretend to do something with their time.

He watched her move towards him. 

Little Bird. 

“You alright?” She was so soft. Her voice a velvet fist around his fat lugs. This woman.

“Fine pet. Just fine.” Standing to his feet with a pop of his knee and a creak in his back, he stood facing down the small, beautiful and perky nursey. 

“Can we take a seat Mr. Peterson? I would like to speak to you if that’s okay?” Anything for you rose lips.

“Lead the way.”

Gentleman. That’s what he was when he pulled the chair out for her. They sat at the little table in the corner where they first met, it almost felt like a first date to him when she smiled at his kind gesture. His eyes followed her as she sat and dusted off her perfectly white smocks.

He sat with a grin on his face. He didn’t know anything about women. They served a purpose or two in the scheme of things but Michael Peterson didn’t buy into not fuckin’ “schemes”. She was a pretty face from him to think about at night. That’s all.

“So, what brought you to Broadmoor, Mr Peterson?” Definitely Irish. 

“You already know that girlie. Next question.” 

“Why did you do it?” Why did I do what? I do a lot of fuckin’ things.

“Attempt suicide? What else do you do when you’re down a fuckin’ hole sweetheart? You look for a means of negotiation. What I didn’t know, was that my arse was well and truly presented for a nice ol’ cock to be shoved right up there. Any fucking excuse.” Slamming his fist on the table made her jump and he mouthed a quick apology to her and raised his hands when he heard the jingle of keys and heavy footsteps by the cage.

“Layman’s terms, Mr Peterson.” Her face looked ugly all scrunched up, but he realised he used “Arse” and “Cock” in the same sentence and realised how he must of sounded.  
“Any excuse to ghost me sweetheart.” His heart was in his throat when she looked at him sadly. Pity. I fuckin’ hate pity. 

“Looking sugar dumplin’, I ain’t stayin’ here too long. Don’t need your “expert” advice on being a better human. I done what I did. Leave it at that.” He leaned forward on his chair, her body propelling back as if he was going to burn her with his words.

“Word of advice Miss Murphy. Watch out for the snakes. I don’t want my pretty little bird gettin’ bitten”

\----

He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and swayed their bodies to the background music. She noticed he was wearing that green checked shirt she loved and her body reacted powerfully to it. The feel of his moustache on the back of her neck sent a shiver through her centre. 

“How is my Little Bird this evening?” The accent was enough to make her roll her head against his strong shoulder. 

“I imagine not as exciting as yours.” She could only whisper as he suckled on her earlobe.

“Did you miss me sweetheart?” His husky voice vibrated in her ear as she felt the path of his hands move towards the elastic of her white smocks. His fingertips grazing her unflattering “work undies” and slipping past the thick elastic. 

“When do I never?” Gasping out, she felt his fingers graze her clit, soaked with the anticipation of his touch. He was always slow and gentle. Warm and soft but his manly fingertip etched with years of labour (fighting labour) brought her to a climax more times that she could count.

“I can tell. All wet for Charlie sweetheart?” He kept his slow pace on her centre and palmed her breast through the thin smock. He grunted and sighed into her ear when she rolled her hips with the rhythm of his finger, the small jolts of her body gaving him enough friction to keep him satisfied.  
“You all pent up love?” Rubbing her harder, her hands wound back and around his neck, letting him kiss and nibble her neck more. 

“Fuck, you have no idea. Up and down baby.” Signalling him to move his fingers a different way, with each upward rub, he felt that little nub reveal itself to him. He loved pushing his finger down and gathering the moist efforts and bringing them up to her swollen clit and lips.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day. My fingers. Your beautiful little cunny. Best combination.” She was all gasps and dirty moans. Moving faster, the wet sound of his finger moving over her told him of her impending release. 

“You gon’ come sweetheart? Come for Charlie. Come on sweetheart.” The ever impending climax was in her chest, the tightening of her pink lips around his finger was the last clue. The choking gasp in her throat and tightening of her thigh muscles.

Not to mention the ominous sound of the Phillips Alarm clock her mother bought her for Christmas chiming loudly in the distance. 

Opening her eyes, she realised that she was drenched in sweat and the throbbing between her legs settled to a dull ache. A sex dream. Two days in an institute and she was already having a sex dream about a Notorious Prisoner. Michael Peterson was definitely going to have to leave Broadmoor.


End file.
